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First published November 12, 2024
Every dog has the Growl in it, no matter how big or little, how scruffy or cute, how pampered, old, or toothless. Every dog has in the first wolf barely coaxed to a campfire. Maybe we never have a chance to use it in our kind lives, and our humans would never suspect. But if we do, it’s because none of us, not a single pup, has forgotten the first campfire. And though we have taken on many jobs for our humans since then, there is one that is summarized in the Growl.--------------------------------------
This One Is Mine to Protect
Ninety percent of magic is public opinion.I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore. Well, after animal control had tried taking Toto, maybe that is not a bad thing.

The Wizard of Oz is arguably the first modern American fairy tale, and Dorothy one of the first prototypes for the army of empowered, female YA protagonists we have today. And growing up as a rural girl in Nebraska—one hop north of Dorothy’s Kansas—it’s no surprise then that I was desperately obsessed with the story. I always wanted to find the rainbow, yellow brick road, or magic slippers that would take me somewhere else. I always wanted to pay homage to Oz, and as a lifelong dog lover, it felt natural that Toto’s perspective was the way into a whole new view of the classic story. - from the Writers Digest interviewHackwith has quite a bit of fun reimagining the OZ we all know. Dorothy is a contemporary teen in a hoodie, with a smartphone, but she is still pure of heart. The Scarecrow is much as he was in the film. The Tin Woodsman, Nick Chopper, is a self-made construct of impressive stature and physical capacity, (Baum had written a bit of back story about him. See EXTRA STUFF for this) with a vocabulary reminiscent of Groot. He is accompanied by a bad-ass sister, a knight, (Lettie) who is not at all metallic.


Imagine the flattest, grayest, most cornfed place you can imagine. Now add depression and life wrecked by late-stage capitalism. That’s Kansas. It’s like the dull beginning of every ad for pharmaceuticals right before Xylohappitoxin or whatever fixes everything. Sure, I make the best of it. Stealing socks and digging in old lady Brumley’s garden. But me and Dorothy are meant for bigger things, like destiny and boss battles and whatever that “Likeandsubscribe” stuff is the glass-people are hype about. - from the Fresh Fiction pieceTasks are assigned to our travelling troupe by local bigshots. Bring me this, bring me that. Shoes are given a bit more attention than in the film, silver this time instead of ruby red, in keeping with the novel instead of the film.
When Frank L. Baum sat down to write the The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, his country was in a state of turmoil which might seem very, very familiar to us these days. Economic and international pressures were ripping apart the perceived stability of the middle class. Hotly contested initiatives like the silver standard are referenced in Dorothy’s own silver shoes (changed to ruby for the technicolor movie). Populist leaders are lambasted in characters like the Cowardly Lion and the Emerald City itself can be read as a giant allegory to the capitalist power of Wall Street in Baum’s era. Oz was never a sterile product of pure imagination. The books reflected Baum’s opinions on the realities of the world. - from the Nerd Daily piece


You ever feel trapped in a family you don’t belong in? In a place that’s just so . . . so that it’s suffocating? That you know there’s more, so much more, out there, and it’s worth seeing, and every day you wake up in the same bed is like drowning a teaspoon at a time? I never wanted—I just . . .” She took in a sharp breath, catching herself. Her gaze refocused away from the window and back on me. For a flicker beat she looked like a duotype print of Dorothy. Hair obscured in soft shadow, a dark wardrobe that could have included the ratty tee Dorothy slept in when she finally peeled off the hoodie on the weekends . . . and a face so full of hunger-pang sadness, it could swallow the world with those wide eyes.Hackwith’s look at the surviving wicked witch is a delight.
This is the thing tall people, even tall dogs, never understand. Everyone looks at the world from three, four, even five feet up in the air. That’s where all the deception is. Everyone makes sure things look nice from that angle. Tables are kept tidy. Skirts are pressed. Floorboards are swept. Railings are dusted. Everyone wants to make a nice impression, tell a nice story from their point of view.
But when you see the world from five inches off the ground? That’s when you get the unvarnished truth.
A. J. Hackwith (she/they) is (almost) certainly not an ink witch in a hoodie. She’s a queer writer of fantasy and science fiction living in the woods of the Pacific Northwest with her partner and various pet cryptids. A.J. is the author of a number of fantasy novels, including the acclaimed LIBRARY OF THE UNWRITTEN fantasy trilogy. She is a graduate of the Viable Paradise writer’s workshop and her work appears in Uncanny Magazine and assorted anthologies. Summon A.J. at your own peril with an arcane circle of fountain pens, weird collections of rusted keys, and homebrew D&D accessories.Interview